


Somewhere Now

by orphan_account



Category: Dunkirk (2017), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst??, Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet, Multi, fluff?, i wrote shivering soldier and tommy as brothers and idk why, the hogwarts au nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s the Hogwarts AU nobody asked for





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of students muttering goodbyes filled the train station. Ungodly sounds of tears, and children whining about the temperature (of course school began on the coldest day in September), and a dog or two howling for company. Everything echoed; Tommy couldn’t have felt more impatient.

The Englishman glanced at his pocket watch, muttering a sigh when he read the time. A second later his brother patted his shoulder—he felt equally impatient. School was a bore for many students, save the Caldwell brothers, and probably the other students in their school. It was different.

“Give it three minutes, Tom,” Michael chuckled, as he removed his hand from his younger brother’s shoulder. He pulled his jacket off his shoulders, a common sign from him that things were testing his patience. “Do you want a smoke before Professor scolds us?”

The sixteen year old brother chuckled, shaking his head as Michael withdrew a cigarette from his pocket. “Gibson will smell it on me; he’s against smoking.”

Michael scoffed. “He’s a Slytherin, against smoking. Like a bee who hates flowers.” He set the now-lit cigarette between his lips, and gave Tommy a stare. “It’s my final year, Tommy Boy. Be nice to your elders this year.” Tommy jokingly hit his arm.

This was Tommy’s sixth year. His second-to-last year away from home. His second-to-last year learning who he was. His second-to-last year of hiding who he knew he was.

He opened his mouth to speak, bound to argue with Michael, when the screaming of engines interrupted his thoughts. Finally: the train.

It was time to go back to Hogwarts. To the home away from home.

—

_“Relax, Tommy, it’ll be fine! You’ll be sorted into my house, I just know it.”_

_The look on twelve-year-old Michael’s face showed enthusiasm for his brother—his baby brother, who was only a year and a half younger than he was, was growing up, and was attending his school. The magic school, as their mum called it at the station. The magic school it was._

_He held his brother’s hand as they were guided into the doors, and tightened his grip when Tommy began to shake. “It’ll be fine, Tom, I promise,” he whispered, keeping his voice at a minimum, in case people overheard. The last thing he wanted was a crowd. He rubbed his brother’s knuckles with his thumb, something their pap had done when their mum was stressed. “I’m gonna be here for you. Me and my crew will make sure you’re okay. Okay?”_

_The brother—a skinny thing, looking to be only nine—gave a tearful nod, pressing himself closer to his brother. “I want to go home, Mikey,” he choked out, feeling a cry close to escaping his throat. He threw his hands around Michael, holding him in a childish embrace. “I want Mum and Pa.”_

_The eldest brother patted the younger one on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Tommy, please trust me.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead, just as the group they followed made their way to the halls. The halls where he’d been sorted into Slytherin just a year before. He knew Mum and Pa would be proud of their boy, even if he found himself in Hufflepuff. But they weren’t here to cheer Tommy on. No parents were. And Tommy needed them._

_Michael came up with the decision to parent his brother as soon as the first years separated, and the rest of the students fell into place at the tables. He sat with his friends, some Boris and Theo, with his full attention on his brother, who looked so distraught and distant that it pained him. He wanted to reach out and hug him, and take him home. But what could he do at twelve? He was ready to hug him when he came back from being sorted. But the boy didn’t join his table in the end._

_The boy was a Gryffindor._

—

“Do you ever regret... life? And it’s purpose, and all the meaning and shit? Or is that just me?”

Alex’s personal input on life and its meaning dragged on for what could be hours, if people kept quiet. Train rides with the pure Englishman (and Pureblood, he’d remind everyone) we’re the worst part of the school year, in Tommy’s mind. Gibson could agree.

He sat across from Alex in their compartment, with Gibson asleep on his shoulder, drooling on his scarf. It was a wonder how he could sleep through the sounds—not only from the train, but from Alex, who was getting more and more talkative as time went on. Tommy occasionally brushed his hand across his face to hide his boredom, and Alex didn’t seem to notice it.

“Can’t you think positive?” Tommy sat up once he spoke, sending the Frenchman to the floor with a thud (Gibson muttered something about ‘damn Englishmen’, but Tommy pretended he was just talking about his dreams). He crossed one leg over the other, his gaze directly on Alex. “You think the world will end. You think the French will kill us because we, according to you, are cheap bastards. You’re so negative and you have no cause for it.”

The boy across from him tossed him a cocky glance, folding his hands together like he would at a meeting. “I didn’t say ‘we’ are cheap Englishmen, first off,” he started, and Tommy groaned in his seat. “I’m not cheap, my folks are rich. It’s your lot that’s cheap, Thomas. Your brother’s the epitome of it.”

“And you’re snogging him often, aren’t you?” Tommy retorted; Gibson had just sat back next to him, but he spotted a grin at that. Alex squirmed uncomfortably in his place. “You and Michael. He isn’t cheap—“

He would’ve finished, had the compartment door not opened. A young man with a yellow-black sweater leaned against the doorframe, looking wildly nervous. “Excuse me?” His voice gave off a brave sound. “My b–my friend sent me to ask if you’d be quieter. He’s got a bad headache, mates.”

Alex and Gibson raised an eyebrow each at the Hufflepuff, until Tommy nodded in response. “Our apologies, Georgie,” he chuckled lightly, waving to his longtime friend. “Tell Peter I said hi, will you? By God, it’s been ages since we last spoke.”

“Hasn’t been since our trip to... oh, you know what I mean, don’t you? The place with the butterbeer.” George smiled at the thought, a bright light illuminating his face. He pressed his left hand to his forehead, suddenly, remembering something. “Shit, mate, I swear I forgot my tie at home. Mum told me she had it packed.”

It’d be a time when Alex might ask ‘Why didn’t you pack it yourself?’, but the events from the year prior were stuck in his head. He knew George had taken part in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, something that everyone in his family had done before him. He’d gotten hurt badly during the games; he left the games blind in an eye, and he couldn’t remember what exactly caused it. But it didn’t matter to him now, he’d gotten used to it, and even had a guide dog back home in Lancaster (a small Dalmatian, one that came from a litter of puppies belonging to the Dawson family’s own dog). Sometimes Tommy forgot about what happened to George, but he knew that George would want them to forget it. “It ain’t a big deal,” he told them, just before the headed home at the end of the year. “I’m fine now. I’m happy. And you know darn well Peter’s gonna be here for me. It’s nothing for anyone to fret over.”

Within seconds of the statement, George had fled the compartment, forgetting to shut the door as he left. Alex kept his mild complaint to himself, as he went to shut the door, tight enough with hopes nobody else would bother them. And hopefully they could spend the rest of the train ride in peace.

—

_“So I’m bunkin’ with you, am I? I don’t like Frenchmen.”_

_The look Alexander Williams shot his roommate was deadly—it was a look he’d probably practiced back home, maybe used once or twice when relatives were near. Phillipe gripped his sweater anxiously._

_“My apologies,” the French boy sighed, furrowing his brows. He crossed his arms over his chest, and tried to glare back at the boy; his glares looked too innocent, and it’d just make people smile. “It’s not like they’ll set you in with another student. Every student stays bunked with someone from their house, and all other Slytherins have rooms. It’s just you and me.”_

_Alex rolled his eyes, letting his attitude take over. He knew he should be nice, he really did, but why should he be nice? Why be nice to someone like him?_

_He pressed his hands into the pockets of his pants, and pursed his lips. “I’m pretendin’ you’re English,” he confirmed, pointing angrily at Phillipe. “I’ll call you Gibson. It’s English, less prissy than Phillipe.”_

_The nickname stuck, and everyone began using it within a day or two._


	2. Chapter 2

_When the first letter came for Michael, the family went ballistic, but in a good way._

_The Caldwell family—Michael, Tommy, and their mother Vera—weren’t all that different from the families in their subdivision, save the fact that young Michael knew to cast spells while most children played with toys. At merely eleven years old, the eldest of the brothers would be showing off his tricks with his mum’s wand to little Tommy. He’d cast shadows of witches and dragons, trolls and beasts, anything that fit his fancy, and Vera Caldwell was proud of her boy._

_When his letter came in the post one fine Tuesday, the three went out for ice cream to celebrate. “You’ve done it, Michael!” Tommy sang out in the minivan, staring down his brother in such awe. “When’ll I get my letter?”_

_When the second letter came, only a day after the first, Vera’s attitude towards the magic changed drastically._

_“This shite, this absolute shite, it’s what made your grandmama hate me,” the woman would mutter at dinner, leaving the boys to look at her with confused faces. She never apologized for cursing, nor for upsetting her dear sons, but instead she just went to the basement for the night._

_“Is magic bad, Mikey?” was the one thing Tommy asked once Vera left the room. He poked at his dinner with a fork, just impatiently waiting for Michael’s answer._

_The eldest brother shrugged in response—he didn’t know, truly—and ruffled his brother’s hair. “Don’t worry about it,” he sighed. “It ain’t a crime, now is it?”_

—

“I’m this close to kicking your ass, buddy.”

It’s been seven years since Michael Caldwell first stepped into the school, and a good seven years it had been. He’d made friends (a sharp-witted Hufflepuff from Yorkshire, and a Slytherin who’d been born in Russia), and some foes were made as well. Spells were taught to him and cast by him, and teachers loved the dear student for his intelligence and eagerness. He was somebody people envied.

He was also somebody who didn’t dare be crossed, and George Mills didn’t understand it.

Now Michael was calm—he was—but it was a family trait, the hot headedness. His pa had it, as did his grandpa, and generations before them had it, too. He never meant to truly be rude or inconsiderate to a living soul... but he just wasn’t too keen on the Mills family. Maybe it was because young George accidentally set fire to his robes during his third year—or perhaps due to him spilling a pint of butterbeer all over his pants on a day trip to Hogsmeade; he just couldn’t tell what he didn’t like about the family. And it’d only been so many hours since the students all arrived at the school again, so surely, George couldn’t have done anything that bad. Except he did accidentally trip the poor seventh year, which was enough to cause a stir.

The Hufflepuff standing ahead of Michael shuffled his feet, staring blankly at the floor beneath them. “I’m clumsy,” he sighed sheepishly, a look of sheer terror on his pale face. He hated to wrong people, and do anything that wasn’t the least bit fair, but mistakes just kept on happening. “‘M sorry.”

And maybe it was because it was his last year and he was sentimental, or maybe he was just too tired to utter anything, but Michael shrugged it off. “It’s fine, George, just go back to your room before Bolton catches us.” He smirked, patted his shoulder. And that was the end of their discourse for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S BEEN FOREVER SINCE I UPDATED
> 
> Sorry for such a short lil chapter here, but I’m using it as a ‘I’m about to update again!’ kinda thing (that and I love my son Shivering Soldier and I wanted to write a bit about him)! Longer chapters are soon to come!
> 
> Comment/review this chapter in the comments if you’d like! And thanks for reading!
> 
> My Tumblr: laughterislight

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I started this because my friend asked ‘what house is Tommy in?’, and this happened. And I love writing this!
> 
> Please leave reviews below!! Find me on Tumblr; my user is johnmichaelshelby!


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